


Where Did The Party Go

by orphan_account



Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: Alcohol, Drinking Games, Gay Kids Being Dorks, I Never, Jean Be Crushin On The Bodt, M/M, Never Have I Ever, Smoking, freckled jesus
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-16
Updated: 2014-09-16
Packaged: 2018-02-17 13:58:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,691
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2312105
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Drinking games and secrets don't mix - especially not when your name is Jean Kirschtein.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Where Did The Party Go

**Author's Note:**

> Now we're doomed to organizing walk-in closets like tombs  
>  Silent film stars stuck in talking cinema life  
>  So let's fade away together one dream at a time Whoa, where did the party go?  
>  We're ending it on the phone  
>  I'm not gonna go home alone  
>  Whoa, where did the party go? Where Did The Party Go - Fall Out Boy

Smoke, sweat and shots – the fatal Three S Combo. We had it all, in wildly varying increments; everything necessary to get totally and wonderfully smashed. At the moment, however, I just wasn’t feeling it. Which was stupid. I was _always_ feeling it – I was Jean Kirschtein, man, douche extraordinaire, king of the wannabe delinquents. And yet, here I was, perfectly sober, and – dare I say it? – _bored._ I was surrounded by my incredibly drunk, incredibly loud companions, among which there was scattered a decent quantity of young and rather attractive individuals.

And all I cared about was the fact that Marco fucking Bodt had not made an appearance.

Apparently his Freckled-Jesus persona extended as far as not partaking of the alcohol. I should have known better, really – shouldn’t have placed all my hopes on this single event.

But – but it was meant to be the party of the _year. Everyone_ had said they were coming; he had fucking _promised._

Shit, I sounded like a bitchy teenage girl.

But swear to god if he didn’t get his freckled ass moving on into Connie’s yard sometime soon I would be throwing a full on temper tantrum. Yep, you heard that right – me, Jean Kirschtein, throwing himself to the ground because his man crush had decided he had better things to do than bask in the pleasure of my company – absurd, right?

Sighing, I shifted impatiently. As I scooted my butt about, the roughness of the log biting into my thighs, I made sure to dig an elbow into Connie’s side.  A muffled sound of annoyance, and then he was tearing his mouth from his girlfriends, spinning to face me with a disgruntled expression.

“Dude, what? I’m trying to get laid here. Bro code man – don’t kill the flow.”

If I was Sasha I would have been socking him right about then, but she just sniggered, leaning in to lace her fingers around his forearm. Rolling my eyes, I let a reply drip from the corner of my mouth.

“Chill. It’s not like Sash ever says no. Anyway, weren’t we actually meant to be doing shit?”

Now it was Sasha making disgruntled noises, and leaning forward to hit me lightly on the chest. It barely even registered – more of a light tap than anything meaningful, and the glare she sent my way had no real bite.

                “It sounds suspiciously like you just called me some sort of hooker, Jeanie boy. You better be careful – that’s my hard earned moolah you’re drinking there.”

A glance down at the can of shit beer clutched between my slippery hands confirmed her words – yes, it was indeed the alcohol she had purchased. No wonder it tasted like cat piss.

I wrinkled my nose and took another sip, fluid spilling past my teeth and down the sides of my smoke-parched throat, a moment of relief before the choking smog headed right back in. Spluttering, hand flailing uselessly before my mouth, and I wondered how I could chug through a pack of Marlboros in week without any issue, yet still be sent reeling by a smidgen of bonfire smoke.

Blind to my plight, Connie was busy running a hand across his close-cropped hair, leaning back into his girlfriend.

                “Why do you care man? You should be having fun! Drink some more beer! Find a pretty girl – or a guy, since that seems to be what you’re going for now.”

I stiffened at his words, head snapping up to glance about in case someone had overheard. The expression he wore was perfectly nonchalant, the light of the flickering flames dancing across his face making him near impossible to read. Leaning in closer, I tightened my grip around my can, hissing my reply.

               “Connie, shut the fuck up. That’s not common knowledge … remember? And besides, I don’t even really like dudes. Just …”

I trailed off, secure in the knowledge that we both knew _exactly_ who that ‘just’ was referring to. A rolling of the eyes and a vague gagging sound confirmed that understanding on Connie’s end. Shrugging, taking Sasha with him as she leant her weight upon his shoulder – was she just asleep, or was she dead? – he gave his reply.

                “Whatever. You might not think everyone knows, but … everyone knows. If you wanna keep hiding in a hole of denial, however, I’m sure as hell not bothered to drag you out of it. But about the other thing – no-one else really seems to be interested …”

Eyes searching through the group, he glanced at Ymir and Krista (liplocked), at Eren and Armin (liplocked), at Reiner and Bert (liplocked).

Yeah. He was right. They didn’t even give a fuck about single little Jean– they were all too busy getting it on. With a sigh, I opened my mouth to admit defeat, and resign myself to another night of getting completely and utterly smashed all alone; but Connie’s eyes had alighted on something off in the corner, too dark for me to see, and then he was straightening and murmuring something to himself.

                “Okay Jeaniebo. You’ve got yourself a deal. We’ll do … something. On the condition that I get to decide what that something is.”

Well shit. This couldn’t be good. Connie making _any_ decisions was not something that you wanted to partake of if you had even the slightest interest in sanity.

_Drunk_ Connie making decisions; well, you were all but signing your own death warrant.

I was desperate though. In all possible interpretations of the word. Desperate and thirsty – and the beer I was chugging at what appeared to be a progressively rapid rate was doing absolutely nothing to quench that second adjective.

                “Whatever. Whatever. I will regret this but – shit man, please don’t make me strip or anything.”

The positively _evil_ laugh that crawled from his mouth did nothing to console me.

But then he was rising to his feet, drink in hand, sleepy sleepy Sasha in drunken tow. Arms raised and face upturned, I wouldn’t be surprised if his game plan was to construct a ritual to the god of sucky parties. When he spoke, however, I began to wish my first impression had been right.

                “Everyone! Attention!”

A few lazy gazes turn to him, but most of the congregation were too preoccupied with gnawing one another’s faces off to pay him any heed. A sigh, and he rubbed the heel of his hand against forehead, eyes closing as he rallied his strength for the next attack. With a theatrical clearing of his throat, he jostled Sasha aside. Shit was getting serious now.

                “People! Open your ears! Attention pleeaaseee!!”

That one garnered a little more attention, bleary gazes wandering towards him as lips pulled away and hands stilled (In some cases, at least; there was nothing stopping Ymir, the horny bastard). Hand running through hair that had only moments ago been clutched in slim fingers, Eren gave a derogatory snort.

                “What is it Connie? Some of us are busy here.”

Leering in his direction, Half A or the Springles duo shot back at the brunet.

                “No need to notify us, Eren. We can very clearly see what’s going down.”

His only answer was a single middle finger. Shrugging, Connie chucked back the rest of his drink, wiping the back of his hand across his mouth.

                “People, my people. All this is very well and good –“ here he gestured to Ymir, still busy with her face buried in Krista’s neck and her hands quite obviously creeping under a shirt – “But this is a party! You can all get laid at your own houses – heck, personally, I’d prefer that. But Pahtays are different. They involve games! Games are what we’re doing now! Are you excited?!”

His most enthusiastic reply was a slurred “Yayyyeyy!” from Sasha, as she tottered forward to collapse against him once again. Fucking dorks.

Oblivious to what appeared to be a complete lack of interest, Connie kept up with his spiel, surprisingly eloquently for someone who had spent the last two hours knocking back beer like it was kool-aid.

                “And we all know what the best game is to play at parties, don’t we?”

A few heads shaking and a lot of disinterested stares. As his eyes danced across the congregation, I could see him slowly losing faith in our generation, before he shrugged and threw it out into the open anyway.

                “Never Have I Ever! That’s the answer guys. It’s the best game to play at parties.”

There was a little more action now, backs straightening, gazes raising – if the prospect of more alcohol (perhaps even decent alcohol!) was on offer, everyone was going to listen – heck, even Ymir managed to spare a glance from where her cheek was busy rubbing into a very red Krista’s shoulder, awoken by the lure of inebriating beverages.

I, however, wasn’t about to congratulate Connie on his brilliant game plan. No, I was far too busy having my own little freak out. I Never? Fuck, the amount of shit that he could do with that – I didn’t even want to think about it. You always found out more than you were comfortable with knowing when this game was involved – and I currently had an awful lot to hide. Why couldn’t he have picked something nice, like, like … Duck Duck Goose?

At least it wasn’t strip poker. I just had to look on the bright side.

All hope was lost the instant Sasha blinked back to life, rapidly revived by the mention of ‘games.’ All but _buzzing,_ she skittered over to her original log, reaching behind for her bag and rifling through it. When she triumphantly rose once more with a bottle of vodka and a pack of those dinky little plastic shot glasses they sold at two dollar stores, a series of cheers found their way into the night air. Connie had their attention now – and he knew it. Even Ymir was focused on the alcohol, having withdrawn her hands to areas more socially acceptable.

Clearing his throat, our maître de raised his glass once more, waiting impatiently until the murmur of chatter died down. As he spoke, Sasha distributed the filled ‘shot glasses’ handing me mine with a smirk and a wink that made me question the intelligence of my choices.

                “So! I Never; I’m assuming everyone know how to play – no? Armin, I see you shaking your head over there. Nu-uh. Okay, rules then. You have to say something – starting with ‘Never have I ever,’ duh – that you haven’t done before. Everyone who _has_ done that thing has to take a shot. Comprende?”

A chorus of ‘yeah’s and ‘of course’s filled the smoky air, and the only other person who appeared to have any reservations was Armin, shaking his head with a red red face until Eren jabbed him and muttered something that had him rolling his eyes and shrugging.

It looked like things were going ahead – not that I could blame anyone but myself. I mean, not that that would stop me from trying.

Connie had to go first – of course he did. Waiting until we were all clutching onto our slippery little cups, he waved away the smoke with an open hand before speaking.

                “Never have I ever … had a threesome.”

Well. Pulling out the big guns from the get go, were we? Suddenly really thankful I hadn’t accepted that offer of Hitch’s a while back, I glanced around the circle. Ymir was chucking it back – no surprises there, we could pretty much assume that she had done everything – but a lot more confronting was the sign of Reiner guffawing and tilting his head back; poor Bert beside him wiping a hand across his forehead before he did the same. Shit, what poor bastard had they gotten into that one? Shuddering at the all too unpleasant mental image, I waited for Sasha to speak. She tugged on her fringe as Connie wandered back to slump beside her, arms draping about to pull her in.

                “Never have I ever been to a strip club.”

I had to drink for that one – Ymir too, and Jaeger along with her. The three of us had snuck into the bar in question the summer before, and gotten a decent amount of ogling in before someone decided to card us and we had to scamper in order to avoid being thrown out.

And that was how it continued about the circle; Armin the one who most successfully inebriated us all with his proclamation of “Never have I ever cheated on a test.”

With the cries coming from the darkened maw of the night, it got so that you could hardly tell who said what. All I knew was that I had drunk once, twice, thrice, then more times than that. By the time the trail had circled around, back to me, my head was swimming and the question I prepared earlier had fled.

I could feel eyes on me, crawling across my skin as I pressed a hand to my forehead, holding back the mental blanket that threatened to envelop me.

                “Never have I ever … uh …” a grimace and a cough, then I threw out the first thing that came to mind.  “Never have I ever banged a guy.”

A chorus of unhappy sounds emanated from Ymir – finally, there was something cutting her off from sweet sweet inebriation. I grinned in her direction, then turned to eye Connie, head tilted to the side as he mulled something through as swiftly as his vodka-logged brain would allow. Face lighting up, he obviously chanced across what he was searching for, and he glanced over at me with a smirk playing across his lips.

                “Never have I ever …”

Shit. With that look on his face, whatever came next couldn’t possibly be good. Wincing with anticipation of whatever horrific proclamation would follow, I almost managed to miss the end of the sentence.

                “… _wanted_ to bang a guy.”

Fuck. He was dead. He was sososo dead. But I had to drink – if I didn’t I’d get called out, and the situation would just deteriorate even further. Grimacing, I raised the glass to my lips, clear liquid spilling into my mouth as all eyes turned towards me. A few wolf whistles and cries of ‘ohhh babbyy’ sounded, and I could feel my soul slowly folding in on itself – at least, until I realised that they weren’t all directed towards me. In fact, many seemed to be focused on the very corner which I had seen Connie himself eyeing off earlier in the night.

Carefully, cautiously, I flicked my eyes in that direction, only to abandon all forms of subtlety as my gaze alighted on a steadily reddening Marco Bodt, leaning forward to top up his now-empty glass.

First thought – when the fuck did _he_ get here?!

Second thought - _Really?_ Marco – Marco had …. shit.

The thought of the freckled Belgian waning to bang _anyone_ got me more than a little hot under the collar, but … another _dude?_

Fuck, I sure was glad it was dark out here.

It was Connie who threw the fuel on the fire (who else?) with a cry of “Well, I know how you two can live out your fantasies!” splitting through the air to a chorus of laughter and cat calls.

That – that fucking bastard.

He was dead. He was _so_ dead.

Clenching my teeth, I steeled myself against the comments that rained down, gazing at numb fingers, happy to ignore the chaos that raged about me – at least, until arms grabbed ahold of my shirt and jacket and legs and manhandled me into the centre of the group, dumping me unceremoniously beside the bonfire. I wasn’t alone, however; no, of course not. Another body, a dark-skinned, freckle-clad one, joined me all too soon, slamming into the ground with a cloud of smoke and dust.

It coughed and protested even as it fell, but the flashing teeth and glinting eyes that surrounded us were having none of it. Instead, they pressed in, closer, closer, forcing us together with a clashing of hands and backs and words of apology until my legs were tangled beneath his and the mist of our breaths mingled in the cold air. 

“Uh, um, ah, hey.” Marco stuttered, flames flicking against the sky to illuminate him in profile, all beautiful curves and constellation of freckles.

“Yeah. Hey.”

Playing it cool really didn’t work when we were melded so close that we could all but be mistaken for a single entity, but I was trying my best. I sort’ve wished we were even _closer …_ but the knowledge that this information would send him running for the hills, coupled with the fact that there was near a half-hundred eyes trained upon us, helped to fuel my acting skills.

A cry in the background of “Just screw already!” reminded me what was at stake here, and I glanced up, just at the wrong time, just fast enough to catch Marco’s shining eyes with my own.

The look that they held frightened me, excited me. It was one of eagerness, of trepidation, of … lust? It was all I could do not to pass out right then and there.

And he didn’t look away – no, he held my gaze steadily with his own, and when I finally wrenched my eyes away, it was only so that they could fall upon the perfectly formed lip trapped between his teeth. Heart racing, pupils dilating, the tang of smoke strong in my nose – I was high, and he was my drug.

                “H-hey Jean?”

His voice was breathless, dancing its way through my skull.

              “Do you – do you maybe wanna … k’know? I mean, nobody’s gonna leave us alone till we do, and … it could be fun?”

He was so uncertain, so tentative, so absurdly precious. It was not doing good things for my sanity. I silently sent a prayer of thanks to every god I could think of that he’d had enough sense to keep his voice down, and that everyone else was too busy making lewd comments to bother actually listening.

I didn’t realise my tongue had darted out to slide across my lips until it was too late; but when I glanced back up at Marco, it was clear he wasn’t complaining. Hungrily, his gaze followed my every movement, eyes dark and red staining his cheeks.

                “I – I guess that wouldn’t be too bad. I mean, like you said … no-one will leave us alone if we don’t …”

I was doing my best to sound reluctant, but I knew full well that I was failing miserably. At this point, however, I was willing to roll with whatever was going to get me into his pants quickest – and agreeing seemed by far the easiest option.

A moment of tense silence ensued as we were both forced to sit up straight and realise that we had just agreed to an incredibly gay makeout sesh.

And then we were leaning in, noses scraping and foreheads bumping in a set of movements that were everything _but_ sexual.

But when his mouth finally slanted across mine, warm lips and hot breath twirling across my face, encouraging me to shift even further forward, until I could wrap my arms around him and draw him in, I would have sworn I had died and gone to heaven. My lips devoured him, his scent, his taste, all smoke and cold and darkness. He pushed back with his own sort of force, mouth moving hard against mine, needy and seeking, and I was being consumed, eaten up, Jean Kirschtein disappearing and leaving in his place nothing but MarcoMarcoMarco.

With a small sound, I brushed my tongue across his lips – and when they parted without question, drawing me in, tongues dancing about one another to skid across teeth and lips, it was everything I had ever imagined and perfect and wonderful and all those shitty romantic sentiments in a single moment. His hands were on my back, sliding up under my shirt, rough cold palms pressed to the small of my back. Body shuddering, a distant corner of my mind registered the wolf whistles trailing off and the murmurs drifting away.

I, however, had no intention of leaving – in fact, I was more inclined to stay here than anywhere ever before. My body was all but vibrating, hairs standing on end, prickling as he trailed his fingertips down my arms, curling about my wrist, thumbs brushing across pulses with a feather-light touch. A shivering sigh skittered from his mouth and into mine, his exhales my inhales, sharing the same space, the same air.

He was the one who pulled away first – of course he was. I was a drunken horny bastard and he was a saint. The angel and the devil, the lion and the lamb. Gasping, gaping, bodies still twined together as he sucked air back into his lungs, and he collapsed against me. Arms wrapped around each other still, hands on waists and backs. When he lifted his eyes to meet mine, I knew I was close enough to kiss him again – and his expression told me he would happily let me. All dilated pupils and crinkles about his eyes and a wide, wide smile.

                “That was – fun.” he breathed.

                “Y – Yeah. Yeah it was.” I was a schoolgirl, inexperienced, giddy with her first kiss. Butterflies in my stomach and a racing heart as I watched the movement of his lips. “We could maybe … do it again sometime?”

Instantly, a nod, that grin flashing in the firelight as he moved.

                “That would be … nice. And fun. A lot of fun.”

A cry of “Get a room!” tore us apart, blushing and burning, still uncomfortable with the sensation of people watching our new intimacy. But before we could separate fully, as the last touch lingered and eyes met, Marco dropped his mouth to my ear and whispered a secret.

                “You know Jean … I really like you.”

And it was with a dorky grin and a swift beating heart that I reached out to thread my fingers through his, that I smiled widely and replied with a simple “Same”.

**Author's Note:**

> Of course my first contribution to this fandom is gay dorks and drinking games.


End file.
